C3 Riches

Royse glanced up and was greeted by the sight of a sprightly elderly man at the doorway.

The gentleman appeared to be in his seventies, his hair a snowy white yet impeccably combed and neatly secured at the temples. He was clad in a sharp black suit, complete with a bow tie, and held a walking stick. His gaze towards Royse was warm and affectionate.

Confusion washed over Royse. He was certain he had never met this man before, yet an inexplicable sense of familiarity nagged at him.

Unable to place the feeling, he inquired, "Who might you be?"

Manager Juarez quickly bent forward in a respectful greeting, "Director Stewart!"

"There's no need for introductions. Please, leave us," the old man said with a wide grin, ushering Manager Juarez out. He didn't take the office chair but instead pulled up a seat right beside Royse. "It's been just over a decade, and you've forgotten me? I am Wensel, your father's steward. I used to hold you when you were a little one!"

"Wensel? Uncle Wensel?"

The memories came flooding back to Royse, and with them, a joy akin to reuniting with a long-lost loved one. "Uncle Wensel, what brings you here?"

In the world of distinguished families, connections were often maintained by lineage rather than emotional bonds. Wensel had served as Royse's father's steward for twenty-seven years, only stepping down and leaving the household after the tragic turn of events that befell Royse's parents. To Royse, Wensel was one of the rare few with whom he shared a genuine bond.

"I currently serve as the CEO of Citibank in Pearlis."

The old man gave Royse a conspiratorial wink, his smile broadening at the look of sheer surprise on Royse's face. "Young Master, I can see you're wondering how an old fellow like me suddenly became a CEO, and at Citibank no less."

Royse was caught between laughter and tears. Wensel had always been the type to bring levity to any situation. Age hadn't changed his playful demeanor. "Uncle Wensel, I am indeed curious. But if it's not something you wish to discuss..."

"There's nothing inconvenient about it," Wensel dismissed with a wave of his hand. "It was your father's directive. He left me a sum of money, cautioning that the rapid economic growth and currency devaluation required early management of your assets."

Royse was taken aback.

He had assumed Wensel's departure from their family was a choice to pursue his own path in life. While Royse understood, it still pained him; he had lost all his relatives during a time of profound grief, and Wensel's resolute departure had only added to his distress.

Reality, it seemed, had played a colossal joke on him. Wensel, who was already nearing seventy at the time, had given up his coveted housekeeper position, a job that many would envy, all to manage his own wealth and dive into the banking and investment sector.

Royse couldn't fathom the amount of dedication Wensel had poured into this endeavor. What he did know was that from this moment forward, this kindly smiling old man was someone he could never let down—not in this lifetime.

He wasn't just family; he was more than that.

"Mr. Wensel, thank you," Royse murmured his gratitude.

Wensel's smile grew even more genial, devoid of any self-congratulatory air. As humble and gentle as ever, the same man he had been for the past twenty-seven years, he simply remarked, "The young master has come into his own."

Then, with a chuckle, he added, "Young master, please don't hold it against me for not assisting you sooner. I've been eager to help, but I must adhere to the family's strictures."

Royse nodded in understanding. "I know. By the way, Mr. Wensel, exactly how much money has the family allotted me?"

"I'd estimate it's in the tens of billions," Wensel replied nonchalantly, as if the figure was of little consequence. Glancing at his watch, he rose and said to Royse, "We'll see the precise sum once we check. Young master, come with me to the vault; it should be ready for us."

With those words, he gestured invitingly and took a respectful half-step back. Though no longer a butler by title, his actions remained as impeccable as those of a lifelong steward.

Royse followed him out of the VIP service room, around a corner, and down a brightly lit corridor.

After a ten-minute walk, they arrived at the end of the hallway.

Passing through a fully enclosed metal scanning chamber and rounding another corner, they were met with an imposing white metal gate.

"This is a chromium steel alloy door—puncture-resistant, highly durable, and capable of absorbing significant impact. It's the preferred material for international banks and security firms," Wensel explained, smiling. He approached the door, verified his identity with a retinal scan, fingerprints, and palm prints, then produced a key.

The security manager, Manager Juarez, was right on his heels, ready with another key. Together, they unlocked the massive door.

"Sir, Director Stewart, please come this way," Manager Juarez said, leading them to the location of the safe deposit boxes. He then gestured to Royse, "Mr. Stewart, you'll need to verify your retinal and fingerprint data."

Royse nodded and followed the instructions, and with a click, the safe swung open.

The officer retrieved the documents and handed them to Royse.

Royse gestured dismissively, "Please give them to Mr. Wensel."

The officer hesitated, then quickly complied.

Wensel chuckled, scanning the documents before arching an eyebrow. "Young Master, the Stewart family seems a tad frugal, doesn't it?"

The officer was perplexed. Director Stewart had just referred to this man as 'Master'? What was happening?

Royse's curiosity piqued. "How much are we talking about?"

"The assets are categorized into three types: general equivalents, original industrial shares, and cash."

Wensel elaborated, "Among them, the precious metals and gemstones, as well as the industrial shares, are each valued at 10 billion RMB. There's also 8.8 billion in cash."

The officer felt a wave of disbelief. With over 20 billion here, how could anyone call the Stewart family stingy?

Royse couldn't contain his surprise. "That much?"

"You find that surprising?"

Wensel gave Royse a puzzled look. "Young Master, weren't you aware? The old master inherited the same sum as you, and that was over 20 billion 20 years ago."

Royse paused, realization dawning on him. Indeed, it wasn't much after all. Considering the depreciation of the yuan over two decades, the total hadn't changed.

Sensing Royse's dissatisfaction, Wensel gave him a conspiratorial wink. "Young Master, don't worry. The family may be tight-fisted, but your father was anything but..."

Royse turned to him, "Mr. Wensel, what exactly are you implying?"

"Even though the Stewart family's inheritance reverts to the family coffers upon death to serve as seed money for the next generation, money earned independently through personal ventures remains under one's own control."

Wensel's grin widened as he leaned in and whispered, "Young Master, your father set aside a cool 20 billion for you."

"20 billion?"

Royse was astounded. He knew his father was a commercial prodigy, with many openly backing him for the family's leadership, but he never imagined his father had left him such a fortune.

"The initial sum was 20 billion."

Wensel couldn't hide his satisfaction. "For years, I've ridden the coattails of Citibank, pouring money into their venture capital funds. Now, that investment has doubled."

"It's at 40 billion now."

He held up four fingers. "I've established a foundation in your name, doing some charity work on the side. This money is yours to access whenever, wherever."

Royse was stunned.

That explained it—why Mr. Wensel seemed so nonchalant from the get-go!

He hadn't imagined that the inheritance from his father would surpass what the Stewart family had given him!

28 billion plus 40 billion...

"That means I now control a staggering 68 billion. It's overwhelming."

The excitement was palpable for Royse. 68 billion was on par with the lifetime achievements of those two formidable families!

A surge of pride swelled within him: What did it matter if someone was a financial wizard or another a cutthroat competitor?

"Sorry, but my dad outshines them all."

He took a moment to steady his racing heart. The sudden wealth was intoxicating.

"Let's withdraw some cash to start."

Royse turned to Wensel, "As for the rest, Mr. Wensel, I trust you to manage the investments. The returns we'll..."

"Master Royse, your father has already paid my wages in advance."

Wensel shook his head, his smile unwavering. "The profits are yours alone. That's how it's done."

"But a salary is just that—a salary. Mr. Wensel, I realize you're not in need, but if you don't take a cut of the profits, it would reflect poorly on my character."

Royse was firm. "A ten percent share. You must accept at least that much. Otherwise, I won't be able to live with myself."

Touched by the gesture, Wensel relented. "Fine, consider it a loan then. I'll invest it and earn a bit on the side."

Money in hand, Wensel accompanied Royse to the bank's entrance.

Royse had hoped to share a meal with Wensel, to catch up after more than a decade apart. But Wensel had to decline, pointing out that transferring such a vast fortune was far from simple. With Royse's signature in place, Wensel had his work cut out for him to ensure a swift and smooth inheritance process. Time was of the essence.

Royse knew better than to press the issue. They decided to catch up properly in a few days and then went their separate ways at the door.

What Royse hadn't anticipated was running into Tracy just as he stepped out with his money bag in hand.

"Mr. Stewart, what a coincidence to see you again," Tracy said.

She had slipped into casual attire—a fitted British-style blazer paired with a short skirt, complemented by freshly applied subtle makeup. She looked even more striking than before.

Stepping out of her car with a bashful smile, she offered, "Didn't bring your car? Let me give you a lift."

Royse was at a loss for words.

Coincidence? Her skirt was creased from waiting, and she still claimed it was happenstance?

Money certainly spoke volumes.

In Royse's eyes, Tracy's beauty and poise outshone Emmie's. Her feigned innocence only added to her allure, putting Emmie's charm to shame.

Yet, the more perfect she seemed, the more disinterested Royse became.

Life might be underpinned by money, and love might need a financial foundation, but love itself shouldn't be reduced to currency.

Otherwise, what's the difference from solicitation?

"No thanks, I'll get a ride," he declined.

He dialed Wensel, and soon after, a Lincoln stretch limo pulled up before Royse, under Tracy's crestfallen gaze.

"Sir, Director Stewart has instructed us to take you home," the driver said respectfully as he took Royse's bag.

Royse gave a nod, barely acknowledging Tracy's hopeful stare, and climbed into the vehicle.

Tracy watched him leave, her eyes filled with the sorrow of a missed chance to alter her destiny.

After a moment, a spark of an idea seemed to ignite in her, and she quickly slipped back into her car...

Royse soon arrived back at his dormitory.

He opened the door to an empty room.

Today was Emmie's birthday celebration, and Axel had invited the entire class to dine together, leaving the dorm deserted.

Naturally, Royse wasn't on the guest list.

Not that he minded—Royse knew that Axel would just ridicule him, and Emmie, with her money-centric mindset, would likely join in rather than defend him.

"Forget it," Royse told himself, "Why dwell on such frustrating thoughts? I have money now; there's no need to obsess over a woman."

With that, he tossed his bag under the bed and lay down, ready to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

His recent routine of picking up trash from dawn to dusk had left him sleep-deprived. Now, with no more financial worries, it was time to take better care of himself.

Just as he was drifting off, his phone erupted with a sudden ring.

Glancing at the screen, he saw messages flooding the class group chat.

"Mr. Axel is the man! Check out our table with Remy Martin that's 1,000 yuan a pop!"

"We've got Martell Cordon Bleu over here too!"

Images streamed in, everyone buzzing with excitement.

Those who couldn't make it were green with envy, marveling at Axel's wealth.

In Minston, where the cost of living was modest and most college students lived on a mere one to two thousand yuan a month, such pricey liquor was unheard of.

"Where's Mr. Axel? He's so generous!" came the sycophantic praise.

"Mr. Axel's off to Yui Hotel with Emmie, hehehe."

"Whoa, mind your words, Royse is still in the group."

"And? He's a loser. Can't we discuss him?"

"Exactly. It's a disgrace to share a class with someone who picks through trash!"

"Well said!" Axel chimed in, dropping a passcode red packet into the chat. "Go on, grab the red packet. I'll take care of Royse's ex-girlfriend for him!"

Royse's blood boiled at the sight, and the red packet only fanned the flames of his anger.

Passcode messages swarmed the chat.

"Royse is a green-haired turtle."

"Royse is a green-haired turtle."

In a fit of rage, Royse kicked over his desk and stood up.

They had crossed the line!